


picnic

by kawaii_alpacasso



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, i wrote this at 11 at night, picnicing boyfriends, prompto asks out noct, self-conscious prompto, soft, spoilers for endgame?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaii_alpacasso/pseuds/kawaii_alpacasso
Summary: prompto takes noct on a picnic on the anniversary of luna’s death. he decides, then and there, to ask noct to be his boyfriend.





	picnic

**Author's Note:**

> i haven’t written a complete fic in sooo long! please don’t attack me for any mistakes, i’m fragile

picnics, prompto thinks, probably aren’t the best place to ask this sort of thing. but he can’t help himself, so while taking a sip from his water bottle, he decides to ask anyway.

“so, um, noct?” 

“yeah, what is it?” noct says between bites of sandwich. prompto finds it endearing, the way noct doesn’t seem to want to give him the time of day. he doesn’t even look at him when he speaks. despite this, he’s his best friend, and he knows he’s noct’s, too.

“would you, uh...” prompto pauses. he stretches his arms high above his head with an audible exhale. then he tucks his arms to his abdomen, and nearly bends over in half. he’s trying to make himself smaller. 

it’s a bad habit; he knows this, and it’s one habit he won’t kick. he knows noct is staring at him now. noct is trying to make him bigger, and prompto appreciates the effort. prompto shakily inhales. he says, “could we... uh... do you wanna...”

noct says, “spit it out, prom.” 

prompto loves his patient voice. he loves the way noct has set down his sandwich on the sheet so he can turn his attention to him. he loves the way noct has extended his arm to touch his shoulder, and how he rubs his thumb across his skin. he loves the way noct doesn’t try to get in his face. 

all this love he has for someone, and prompto can’t find the self-love to tell him.

prompto tucks his head into his knees and tells himself he’s stupid. he tells himself that noct is still in love with luna. he reminds himself that that’s why they’re out here in the first place - it’s been exactly a year since luna’s death, and prompto wanted to make noct feel okay.

“nevermind,” prompto whispers. 

noct moves closer, which makes prompto shiver. noct whispers back, “what?” 

“nevermind.” prompto repeats.

“prom,” noct says. his tone has changed. he must have heard in prompto’s voice what prompto tried to hide. when noct stands up, prompto finds solace in being wrapped in his shadow. when noct sits back down, this time in front of his knees, prompto instead finds solace in being wrapped in his arms.

noct exhales. he breathes deeply, like he’s playing role model for the man in his arms. prompto grasps at the nape of noct’s neck, as he rests his head on his shoulder. prompto feels like a bobblehead, if bobbleheads had such heavy heads that they’d topple over without a shoulder to lean on.

prompto is fueled in a vicious circle. he cries because he’s making a fool of himself, and then cries more because he can’t stop crying about it, and then cries more because he feels like an idiot for crying more. he feels bad for noct, having to put up with him ruining everything. 

noct does not feel that way at all. noct tightens his hold on prompto and presses a kiss to his collarbone. every few seconds, he’ll say prompto’s name, gently but audibly. he wants to know why he’s crying. he doesn’t care that his mostly-uneaten sandwich is probably in an anthill now. prompto is worth more than a sandwich.

“i’m sorry,” prompto says into his shoulder. he repeats it over, and over, and over, like a mantra, like he’s praying to noct for forgiveness.

“prompto,” noct says softly. 

prompto feels noct’s hand petting his hair, from the top down to his back, and he feels some sort of relief because of it, some sort of small, small relief. finally, he inhales and says, “i’m sorry. i’m stupid.” 

“prompto.” noct says firmly. he presses his hand into his back. “enough.”

prompto lifts his head off his shoulder and says, “sorry.” 

“prompto, stop. just tell me what’s wrong.”

noct’s tone is never harsh, which is something prompto appreciates, but feels guilty about. prompto feels that noct isn’t an overly patient man, and he shouldn’t have to make an exception for him. but he’ll explain to him anyway. because now he needs to get it off his chest.

“i was...” prompto sniffles. he regains composure. “...i was gonna ask you if you wanna go out.”

“prompto,” noct whispers beside prompto’s ear. prompto gasps quietly - he passes it off as a post-cry sob. “we’re already out.”

noct laughs against the skin below his ear. prompto laughs, too, until he remembers he still has to explain what he meant.

“i... i want to know if you wanna be my boyfriend.”

noct speaks against prompto’s skin, “i know.” he’s smiling, and lets out a breathy laugh.

prompto is flushed. his heart is pounding so hard that every millisecond that it isn’t beating feels like his body is limp. his skin is warm from the sun and his anxiety. every inch that noct moves down his neck is skin twice as sensitive as the last inch. he needs an answer before he trembles his way out of his mind.

“uh, noct, i know you’re not experienced at this, but this is where you’re supposed to turn me down. crush my heart and dreams, walk away and leave me alone with the ants, all that.”

“why would i do that?” noct says. he slides prompto’s sleeve off his shoulder, then presses his lips fervently against his collarbone. 

prompto groans first at the cold air and then at the comfort of noct’s mouth. he feels as if noct is worshiping his body, which is, to him, weird beyond words.

it takes strength for prompto to say, “it’s the anniversary of luna’s death.” the words come out shaky, because it’s a reflection of prompto.

noct turns his head and leans it against prompto’s collarbone. he trails his fingers absentmindedly along prompto’s chest, and looks at him as best he can. “she’d want me to be happy, prom.”

“exactly,” prompto says pointedly. “i’m not sure you’d be happy with me, noct. i don’t want us to date just because you feel bad for me.”

“i don’t feel bad for you, though.” noct leans back to look at prompto. he touches along his neck, to his jaw, and back to his ear. he rubs the skin there gently while he talks. “you’re a grown man. you can handle guns, you can handle yourself.”

“i can.” prompto says. he closes his eyes; he’s too nervous to look at noct. “i promise.”

“i know you can.” noct says. he snorts and says, “open your eyes.”

prompto does, and he looks at noct with upturned brows. he isn’t sure what noct is doing, why he’s still touching him like he means it, but prompto keeps eye contact with him. 

noct looks serious as he says, “i want you to be my boyfriend, prom.” 

prompto doesn’t mean to cry again, but he does. noct lurches forward and hugs him tightly, and prompto doesn’t feel bad about it this time because he feels how noct needs it too. while prompto sobs happily over his shoulder, noct presses his mouth firm against his neck. 

noct lets himself cry, for once, too. he says, “i want to take you bowling,” he sniffles, “and we’ll make a bet that for every strike one of us gets, we kiss.” he sniffles again, “and we’ll have so many picnics, prom. and we’ll stay in late in the mornings, and you’ll snuggle closer, and i’ll think, wow, how did i get this lucky?”

“noct, stop,” prompto says, sniffling harshly. he leans his chin against noct’s back, and smiles. “you’re making me cry.”

noct chuckles, and he squeezes prompto tightly as he does. prompto cries more, because noct’s arms are safe. they sit there in each others’ arms for a few minutes, until they’re all cried out. then they sit leaning into each other, breathing against each others’ skin and clothing.

noct says, “prom?” 

“what?” prompto answers with a sore throat. he clears it. 

“i love you.”

prompto says, “i love you too.” he tears up again. 

“you owe me a sandwich, by the way.”

they both laugh. 

that is, until prompto deadpans and says, “wait. you’re sitting on mine.”

then they laugh harder.

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is @dearestloki if ya wanna follow me!


End file.
